


Bright Things and Fair

by sheron



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1970s, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Drama, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Pepper and Tony are not together but Morgan was born, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth — and neither did time-travel to retrieve the Tesseract. When circumstances outside their control force Steve and Tony to spend more time together in the 1970, they do what two people with their history do under the circumstances: work together and try to get through it without unnecessary feelings getting in the way. Falling for each other is definitely a bad idea, isn't it?





	1. The Trip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/gifts).



> For [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/profile), with thanks for eternal patience while I got this done for the Marvel Trumps Hate bid. It was my pleasure to get such a delightful prompt. I hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> Thank you to vorkosigan and janonny for being amazingly supportive and providing great feedback. The title of the story is from a duet by Oliver Shaw.
> 
> This takes place when they jump into the 1970, and is canon compliant up to that point except for Tony and Pepper not being together, but co-parenting Morgan.

_"The course of true love never did run smooth._  
  
_War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,_  
_Making it momentary as a sound,_  
_Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,_  
_Brief as the lightning in the collied night;_  
_That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth,_  
_And ere a man hath power to say "Behold!"_  
_The jaws of darkness do devour it up._  
_So quick bright things come to confusion."_  
  
  
_\- Lysander from "A Midsummer Night's Dream" by Shakespeare_

"Ray Dorset fan?"

It took Tony a second to catch on that the desk clerk's question was directed at him. "Huh?"

The man behind the hotel counter motioned at his own cheeks and nodded, as if talking about Tony's facial hair. "Mungo Jerrys?" 

What the hell was a Mungo Jerry? Was this how Steve felt in the future all the time? Tony had to get out of here.

"Uh. Yeah. Yes, definitely." Tony threw out a peace sign. The desk clerk frowned, so that was probably too much. Grabbing the room key, Tony pulled up a cursory smile and walked out as fast as he dared.

Outside the small hotel, he turned the Manhattan street corner to a shadowed alleyway to find Steve, in his full Captain America regalia, entertaining three young kids with dirty faces. Ten-year-olds from the looks of the lot, and wide-eyed with admiration only Cap could inspire. He was letting them touch his shield. Even in profile, lit up by the bright midday sunshine, Tony could tell the warm regard in his eyes made the kids straighten their shoulders and stand a little taller. They gave Tony distrustful looks and scattered like peas when he approached. Steve gave a quick salute their way, to flashes of childish grins, and turned to Tony. "You got a room?"

"4A," Tony showed him the thick iron key with a leather tag. "Let's get going before your young fans adopt you."

"They know who Cap is," Steve marveled, in sotto voice. "I knew they had comics and movies all this time, but I just never— I didn't realize how constant it's been." He was slouching, as if to make himself smaller and overwhelming endearment stole Tony's breath for a moment.

"I had Cap pajamas when I was four. Probably shouldn't have told you that." Tony's gut was fluttering as if he was mid-flight. The sense of companionship he and Steve had found again had him feeling like he was in an elaborate fantastical dream. They couldn't _really_ be in the 1970! They couldn't _really_ be friends again and working together _so_ well!

He glanced back at the man by his side and caught Steve looking softly at him. His heart stuttered, and they both looked away.

 _Everything_ about being on this Time Heist with Steve set Tony's heart beating too quickly in his chest. Besides the hope that this plan had given to all of the Avengers, Tony had a personal interest in time travel since childhood, sparked reading Ray Bradbury and H.G. Wells under the bed-covers at night. While a big part of him was terrified of never seeing Morgan again, he was also nearly jubilant to get to travel through time. The very idea had Tony's inner geek freaking out. And then there was the way Steve had said he trusted him: certainly, and without reservation. The way he'd made the call to jump into the past, with nothing but one of Tony's wild guesses and his word to rely on. That kind of trust was equal parts wonderful and unbearable, both.

Tony had to stop thinking about it, or he would do something spontaneous and insane like turn around and hug Steve.

They walked back into the lobby together. "Stairs," Tony muttered low, hoping Steve's appearance would go unremarked. They weren't so lucky, however, and the desk clerk who had sold Tony their two-bed hotel room earlier did a double take. You didn't often see Captain America's doppelganger in full costume and shield stride into your no-frills hotel. 

The clerk looked Steve up and down. "What are you coming from: a kid's birthday party?" His eyes gleamed in that way a father's eyes gleam when he imagines inviting Cap to a birthday party for his own child, not that Tony's ever thought about it.

Tony talked fast. "Audition, you know how it is. One of those shows that's coming out: all about the life of Captain America." Guileless was his face. Beside him, he could sense Steve's expression freeze into a polite mask.

"Oh yeah! Heard about that," the clerk suddenly turned from incredulous to friendly. "Give'em hell, Cap!" And he gave a sloppy salute that had Steve pulling up an awkward smile in return. Everyone was a fan, Tony thought with an inner eye-roll. That was okay though; in the future, plenty of people liked Iron Man best.

Tony shooed Steve up the stairs before the conversation could turn any more detailed, as the Beatles crooned "Let It Be" from the small black radio behind the desk. They booked it up to the fourth floor — the climb made Tony woozy; Hulk little love tap had left his head throbbing — and Tony unlocked their room. It was a simple affair, two twin beds with a night table shoved in between them, flower curtains, kitschy wallpaper. Domestic.

"Let's try to keep a low profile, the hotel guy already thinks I'm on my way to Woodstock." Tony ran a thumb over his bearded chin.

"You could shave. Make yourself fit in with the times."

"Why bother? We'll be out of this century tomorrow," Tony went past the beds to peer at their bathroom. The small room was old and dingy looking, but he'd seen worse places. "Besides, don't you think I look like an academic?" He glanced over the shoulder at Steve with a challenging eyebrow raised.

"You look fine, Tony. Is that the cover we're going with? Academic visitors to SHIELD science labs?" Steve had already picked the bed closest to the door, making the mattress sag heavily where he sat on the corner edge, elbows resting on his knees, and hands gripped together in front. His gleaming shield leaned against the side of the bed. He looked ready to defend the hotel room from an alien invasion and his somber gaze focused on Tony with intent. 

"Me, maybe. Not sure we can sell you as an egghead." If Tony's eyes lingered on Steve's biceps, well, who could blame him.

"Hey, I have an inner life," Steve said with a tiny smile. "Maybe a military uniform?"

Tony nodded. Bad move; god, his brain felt like scrambled eggs. "You'd fit right in." 

"How's your head?" Steve asked seriously. So, he'd noticed Tony's little wince.

Tony jerked one indifferent shoulder. "I'm fine." 

"Right," Steve said, voice dry in a cross between amusement and concern. Brimming with that note that said he knew Tony entirely too well and was incredibly fond of him for some reason that currently escaped him. Tony felt warm all over. Steve added, casual-like, "We should get some rest."

Tony looked down so he wouldn't be meeting Steve's eyes in the bathroom mirror. "Hmm. What's the plan tomorrow?" 

Tony's Plan A had been to fly to Camp Lehigh at night as Iron Man, and pick up both items they needed, but Steve made a solid argument against unidentified flying objects over U.S. military bases in the middle of a Cold War. Tony agreed that their plan had to include not starting a nuclear war as a basic premise, so now they were onto Plan B: stealth. They could do stealth, right?

Tony thought maybe together they could do _anything_.

Feeling unaccountably self-conscious with Steve there, watching him, Tony twisted the faucets and splashed some water on his face, wiping it with the soft white towel from the rack. 

"Get to Camp Leigh. Get on the base." In the mirror, Steve shrugged. "Wing it from there?"

Lost in thought, Tony considered Steve's reflection. For a man who _liked_ to have a plan, Steve seemed awfully willing to go in unprepared. _Are you okay?_ The words lingered on Tony's tongue, but never passed his lips. "New Jersey. No flying, so we'll need a car."

Steve nodded, picking at the cuff of his uniform. "I'll need different clothes, so I can move around more easily."

"Yeah, you sure could use a makeover. I'll go out in a bit, get you something to wear." And delay the inevitable: lying in the other bed listening to Steve fall asleep. The thought made him jittery. 

"You never said. What did you pawn for cash?" Steve looked curious.

Tony wasn't going to start lying now. He carefully shut the running faucet. "My ring."

Steve's eyes widened. "Your—? _Tony._ " Just the reaction Tony didn't want, and the reason he had tried to avoid saying it back at the pawn show where a cynical store keep had given him enough cash for the simple gold band to last them a week of living frugally, or as Steve called it, 'like normal people'.

"Keeping it on for three years was sentimental." Logical, practical Pepper would approve of his decision, Tony knew with confidence. She'd stopped wearing hers years ago. But in the mirror Steve was giving him a look entirely out of proportion with the difficulty of the act for Tony, his expression gone somber and earnest.

"Last time, Pepper was at your house. Aren't you two working things out?" 

Tony shot him a glance over the shoulder. "What? Did you miss that we have a kid? No, we aren't getting back together. We are Morgan's parents, so we parent." He looked away, but his eyes met Steve's in the bathroom mirror. Steve's serious gaze pinned him in place, searching his own as if looking for an opening to peer inside. "You'd know that, if you came around more often than once a year." 

He wished he could stop _saying_ things like that. It was the past, bitter him, and he was tired of those corrosive feelings. He just wanted Steve to stick around. It came out sad and wrong.

Steve's lips compressed in a thin line, and he glanced down on the ground before looking up again. "Tony..."

Tony didn't let him go down the beaten track. "You could do that. Come around more often?" There, that was better. It sounded like an invitation, into Tony's home and back into his life. An opening on offer. "When we get back."

Steve's face lit up. "I'd like that," he said, sincere. Tony's stomach jerked. 

He was talking about a future; _their_ future. Without meaning to, he was starting to make plans that counted on Steve being around for it. 

Morgan was too young to remember the times Steve had come by before, always with a business reason and always gazing at Tony and his daughter with a wistful longing that made Tony's breath catch. The first time Steve had seen Morgan, barely a month old then, he'd gotten choked up, and Tony remembered him stumbling through congratulations with a hushed sort of reverence. Steve kept looking between Tony and the tiny human baby snug in a blanket in his arms, as if he was trying to find similarities. It had been the first time in a long while that Tony had found himself smiling at Steve, happy to see him. In his memories, those moments had been joy and terror, because he had a baby, he had a _daughter_. "I have a kid," he had repeated dumbly, looking down at her and feeling like he could _die_ from loving someone so much. He wanted everyone in the world to feel even a tiny bit as happy as he felt holding her in his arms. A minute later, Steve had flipped his Captain face on, and concluded his business in a formal manner, leaving promptly with a quiet, "I am happy for you, Tony."

His visits grew further and further apart. Tony knew a few years down the road Steve had gotten into some sort of support group and was working himself into the ground helping people cope with the new world they all found themselves in. Natasha, in coordination with FRIDAY, made a point of keeping Tony updated on major planet events, and apparently what Steve was doing with his life qualified. Tony never complained about the updates, of course, because the distance between him and Steve was a constant unrelenting ache. Even at night, exhausted from looking after his darling Morguna, sometimes Tony couldn't sleep, wondering _what if_...what if he'd been smarter, better? What if there was a way to fix everything? With the planet, with the team, with him and Steve. He worked on Steve's shield to keep himself sane in between all the endless baby walks, naps, feedings, washings. It gave him a sense of purpose beyond being a Dad to prototype different styles of shields, measure their function, simulate how well they worked at knocking down bad guys. In the end he always came back to the original that seemed to fit Steve's fighting style best. Finally, when the shield lay completed in the garage, he would look at it sometimes and feel that same wistful ache, pulling at him like quicksand. He had tried to turn his thoughts away from looking for a solution, but couldn't stop himself.

And now, here they were, with an actual plan. Everything could still go side-ways, but at least they were doing _something_. And Steve was here for however long this heist lasted.

"Hey," Tony didn't startle when Steve was at his side, briefly touching his elbow and bringing Tony out of his reverie. "You should get that cut treated." He nodded his chin towards the injury. It had stopped bleeding even back in 2012, but Tony felt a burn whenever he moved the muscles on his face.

Steve leaned against the doorway, while Tony examined the side of his face in the mirror. God, he hadn't really been sleeping much since Scott's visit had given him the final piece of the puzzle for the time traveling mechanism. The lack of sleep showed in the tired lines of his face; the last time he'd looked like this Morgan had been going through the terrible twos. 

Tony tapped his arc reactor under the clothes, and made the Iron Man glove briefly cover his hand. Then, he applied the hemostatic agent in small dabs on the cut, sealing it. It looked seamless, blending with his skin, and he wouldn't be leaving blood on the pillows. The armored glove vanished as it had appeared, nanobots slithering back off his skin. At his side, Steve was curious and, Tony hoped, at least a little impressed with the nanotech. Over the last years, aside from a few skirmishes that required Iron Man, Tony hadn't had much opportunity to show his armor off to the team, so Steve wouldn't have had much time to see it in action.

"Handy," was all Steve said, crossing his arms awkwardly on his chest, looking a bit lost. Idleness did not become him, but there was little Tony could do about that until Steve was able to go out in public without having the Second Coming effect on the general population. In fact, now was as good a time as any for Tony to get on with the next part of the plan: this period's clothing.

"What do the seventies thrift stores even look like?" he wondered idly.

"I don't imagine all that different. Not everything's changed as much as you think," Steve said. "It's the little things that used to trip me up. But the rest..."

"People are people."

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Don't worry about the looks, just find me something that fits."

"You're going to show up to Camp Leigh dressed in a shiny polyester print," Tony cautioned cheerfully.

"I just need to be able to go outside," Steve glanced down at his Captain America suit in consternation. "It's Thursday, which means tomorrow is Friday, which means a whole bunch of soldiers will be doing their laundry in time for the weekend." Steve gave Tony a significant look.

"Oh," Tony said, delighted by the simplicity of it. "We'll lift you a uniform."

"Exactly."

"Then there's getting to Jersey. We definitely don't have the money to both rent a car and eat — you choose." 

"I'll get us a car," Steve said confidently.

"Huh." Tony's glance at him was one of admiration. "Of course, you can hot-wire a car. ...Did Natasha teach you?"

Steve gave an amused huff. "No, Tony. I did do a few things on my own before I joined the Avengers."

Tony thought back to a time when learning that Cap was willing to steal a car would have shocked him, back when he'd had Steve on the kind of pedestal nobody could live up to, back when Steve had struggled to live up to those expectations, before it all came crashing down. There was an aching sentimentality attached to the recollections of that other time, a world that was gone and swept away to live on only in their memories. But instead of making him sad, today the memories made Tony feel stronger, because, well, hadn't they made it this far?

"The things they don't put in the history books." 

Steve smiled. It relaxed his features, made him look, if not younger, then far more approachable. Comfortable in his skin. Tony loved that look on him. That was probably why he went and spoiled the moment, blurting out, after a big gulp of air, "When I was a kid, like nine or so, I used to dream about it. Stealing one of Dad's cars and just...driving off. Never coming back."

A soft, more somber look on Steve's face had Tony turning his eyes away, knowing he could deflect, wondering if he should.

"What were you gonna do for fun?" Steve asked with a quiet patience that made Tony cut a glance to him again. Steve's probing blue gaze caught him and wouldn't let go.

"Just, kid stuff. Ice cream. Go swimming. Find a school field and play some ball with the other kids there. Read books like I wasn't doing enough of that already." Tony shrugged. "Stupid stuff. Do you know what's the ironic thing?" Steve waited patiently. "I'd think about running away, and I'd think to myself, _Cap_ wouldn't want me to do that." 

Steve's eyes were almost unbearably intense, but oddly Tony didn't want to look away anymore, he didn't want to hide. Even though the confession was vastly embarrassing on some level, a part of him wanted Steve to hear it, this little secret of his younger, less-cynical self. He wanted Steve to know, because he wanted Steve to know _him_ : even the stupid embarrassing stuff that left Tony wide-open and vulnerable. The nine year old who'd wanted to break the rules just to get a chance to be a normal kid.

Steve didn't laugh at him, like Tony had known he wouldn't. Tony _must_ have known, somewhere deep inside, because the emotions that overtook him were mostly sated contentment at being understood. 

It was scary how quickly he began to depend on Steve, again, once he gave himself permission to trust him. Tony didn't know what to do with all the warmth welling in his chest just then, so he swept it aside to deal with later. He moved his shoulder, a half shrug, and even though Steve's serious gaze was still acting like a magnetic force on him, there was more space to breathe.

"Well, I suppose if you feel strongly about it, _you_ could steal it—" Steve started when the silent moment drew too long.

Tony waved a hand. "No, no, you do it. I'm over it. Besides, I've got loads to do before we even need a car."

"The ID cards."

"I have some ideas about that." Tony smiled, glad to have a partner in crime who was on the same wavelength. "But sit tight." He studied Cap's figure critically. "Your makeover first."

"Tony..."  


* * *

For all the time Tony had spent dwelling on the idea of sharing a hotel room with Steve that night, turning over what it would mean, why exactly it worried him, it didn't come to pass. The first thing he heard upon re-entering their hotel lobby was:

"—the _real_ deal, I swear. Send the camera crew." 

The moment the hotel clerk looked up and saw Tony there, his expression turned secretive and he covered the receiver on the phone, as if Tony could overhear the other side of the conversation. Tony paused on the way to the stairs and studied him. The smile plastered on the clerk's face so bland as to be entirely fake, and Tony had been in enough situations like this himself to know the jig was up.

He made it up the stairs in record time, even with the pounding headache. When he unlocked the door, Steve jumped up off the bed as if he had springs.

"You have them?" _Someone_ was eager to be released from the confinement of the room.

"Yeah, yeah." Tony handed him the bag. Steve was in the bathroom, changing, in a flash. The second-hand store Tony had found in the neighbourhood had carried a midnight blue nylon work jacket, a white crew neck shirt and grey pants in Steve's size, and though Tony had been tempted to bring him back some ridiculous bright knitwear, their shared goal was too serious to mess around with, and he couldn't spare their limited funds on a joke. So Tony got him something less hipster, more Steve McQueen. Waiting for him to change, Tony thought back to the clerk downstairs. "We gotta leave," he called through the closed bathroom door, staring at his untouched bed with some measure of longing.

"What? Why?" Steve's surprised voice echoed in response. He came out of the bathroom a minute later, his Cap costume folded in his hand. He looked good. The dark blue of the jacket highlighted the lighter shade of his eyes.

Tony recounted the encounter downstairs, and Steve easily validated his unease with a frown of his own. They couldn't risk Steve being recognized. If it got back to SHIELD and the general state of alert rose on the base, that would interfere with their plan. So when Steve suggested they abandon the hotel and make their way to New Jersey then and there, instead of waiting 'till morning, Tony couldn't argue with the idea. 

And so, at around seven, as the day's warmth was giving way to the cooler breeze of the April evening, two men walked out of the small hotel that was paid up until morning, intending never to return. 

By that point, the plan began to fall into place. Steve used one of his many talents to acquire them an older model Chevy, its black hood gleaming in the sun as Tony drove and Steve watched the scenery from the passenger seat, somewhat morosely. The drive was slow. Tony had always liked these older cars because they talked to you. This one was telling him her troubles with the whistling rumble of the engine. He couldn't spare the time to give it some much needed TLC, get it purring like it could be, so he kept well below the speed limit to avoid overheating the engine. 

The air smelled of ozone promising rain and the lulling sound of tires on the old asphalt road counted off miles as they put New York behind them. Rays of the setting sun pierced the pink clouds where the road met the horizon and burned his retinas, making Tony's headache flare up worse. Tony attributed his rising nausea to that and maybe the questionable hot dogs from earlier. Their heating and A/C was broken. The chilly breeze through the rolled down windows only left him feeling clammy and unwell. After a bit of silent driving, he started skimming through the radio channels. 

The Beatles came on again, with another one of their hits, and Tony huffed. "They are going to break up any day now, you know."

"Mmm." Steve didn't look away from whatever was so fascinating outside.

Tony drove another minute in silence, but it wasn't like there was anything on the way down to Jersey that deserved that kind of focused attention, and if there was, Tony wanted to hear about it.

"Hey, buddy?" Okay, so the anxious twist in his gut had nothing to do with the hot dogs. Steve either didn't hear or was too far down in his thoughts to respond. After another moment's hesitation, Tony gave in, pulling one hand from the steering wheel and set it on Steve's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "You falling asleep over there?" The feel of Steve's warm shoulder under the jacket was captivating; Tony's hand lingered.

Steve didn't startle, but just turned slowly to blink at him. For some reason, Tony thought his eyes looked ancient today, as if all of his technical one hundred years was pressing down on Steve more heavily than usual. The question from yesterday stuck in Tony's throat, until he forced himself to cough it out, lightly, "You okay?" And then, because it felt like he didn't have the right, he carried on, "Is my driving boring you?" He just wanted something from Steve to go on.

Steve stared in silence for another moment, then his lips curved in a smile that felt...sweet. Endearingly, almost embarrassingly so. Heat came to Tony's cheeks, and he patted Steve's shoulder once, before letting go. His own reaction baffled him. He was thinking how nice Steve looked when he smiled, again. He thought that a lot. It wasn't as if Tony was unaware of the pull of attraction that lingered, ever-present, between them, but this was less that, and more a sense of belonging, come rushing back. As if Steve's troubles were his own again. As if, when he could make Steve smile, lighten the load a bit, then Tony's own heart felt less heavy and beat a little more easily.

If not _rapidly_ , the way Steve was looking at him. Tony spared another glance, taking his eyes off the relatively empty road. Steve's smile had faded to a faint cant of his mouth, but he wasn't looking away. As the sun finally rolled behind the horizon, its orange rays highlighted the chiseled features of the man next to him and turned his hair golden in a way Tony found unfair. Their eyes met and held. "Yeah?" Tony said, nonsensically.

He became aware that Steve had never actually answered the question only then. Something like electricity sparked up his spine and he had to look away, searching desperately for something to break up the tension.

"You know we barely have five bucks to our name?" Tony's mind jumped to the other topic that worried him. They had left the hotel room behind, and there wouldn't be any beds to sleep in tonight, comfy or otherwise. Tony was used to falling asleep working in his garage, but it didn't do his back any favours. "Even with the current prices, that's _maybe_ tomorrow's breakfast."

"We'll bunk down in the car." Steve nodded to himself, and returned to his silent staring out the window.

 _Well fine, be that way_ , Tony thought, gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead at the road. The silence weighted on him.

"Natasha would have been great at this. This infiltration stuff," Tony clarified at Steve's quick questioning look. He clenched the wheel harder. "Hell, she probably wouldn't have dropped the ball in 2012. Maybe she and Clint should have gone there and you and me to Vormir, huh?" Despite the ease of his words, Tony found himself shivering. Between the nuke and the voyage to Titan, he was two out of two for terrible trips to outer space and not eager to repeat the experience. Natasha had read that about him in about two seconds flat and volunteered.

"But did you see Clint when he learned he could go into space?" Steve said softly into the oncoming dusk. "I think he actually cracked a smile. After that, no way was Natasha gonna let him go off on his own, what's with everything."

"I guess."

"And don't put this on yourself. We knew the risks when we made the jump."

Tony appreciated the words, even if they didn't assuage his guilt. They had a shot at getting home, if tomorrow went off without a hitch, but if they couldn't get the Pym particles it was going to be a very slow trip back. "Getting stuck in the 1970s wasn't part of the plan."

"Nobody else I'd rather be stuck with than you."

Steve's words fell like stones into a quiet lake, rippling and sweeping through Tony's world. 

After a moment of lingering silence, Steve returned back to looking outside. 

Tony stared, caught. Steve meant like—like— Like Tony was useful to have around, that was it. With great relief that masked a stinging in his heart, Tony grabbed onto that explanation. It was true, he and Steve worked well together. And when this was over, and they didn't have a world saving adventure to tie them together anymore, they would both look back on these times with fondness. Tony knew he would remember this trip for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, he knew how many nights he'd lie awake, after, wishing Steve had meant something more with those words.

And that wanting, _longing_ , felt dangerous. Tony had always had a problem burdening people too much with his emotional needs. Steve was all manful handshakes, and Tony—Well.

They stayed in their lanes, in any case.

Theirs was a relationship with a comfortable cadence to it. Tony reached out, Steve accepted; never the other way around. Steve was all about giving him time and space. Tony thought sometimes Steve was projecting his own needs on Tony, because Tony definitely didn't need as much space as Steve seemed to want to give him. Sometimes he was glad for the distance, because it meant he could control their encounters. Other times it only made Tony want to reach out even more. That always felt like risking too much: what if Steve wanted him to just _stop_. 

But what if, _what if_ he wanted Tony to keep going, to pierce that carefully constructed barrier he kept around himself and see the soft layers underneath. It did have to be soft, didn't it? Tony thought so. Tony thought if he ever touched Steve with intent, it would be softness all over.

While Tony was distracted with endless, looping thoughts about what Steve had said, something in the engine cracked and an explosion of steam poured out through the openings in the front. Tony had to pull over to the side of the old road as the engine started to overheat. Steve stared at the dashboard like it personally offended him and didn't say a word. After a moment's silence, Tony sighed and got out of the car, walking to the front and popping the hood. A screwdriver and a wrench were two of the first shapes he'd taught his nanites to form, back when he was starting to experiment with the tech, even before he'd done something for the armor. So he was never without his tools. This time however, he could see the root-cause at a glance.

"Something burst?" Steve asked, his tone a wince, as he joined him looking at the steaming engine. He looked ahead at the two-lane road lined with grass and sparse aspen trees; nothing around for miles and the sun firmly behind the horizon, rain clouds threatening overhead. They were on their own. "Looks like it's overheating. We've got water in the backseat."

"Yeah, I think it's the radiator hose. It split, there." He pointed to the rising steam. "I can patch it up." Tony put on his glasses for protection and peered carefully at the engine with steam coming off. It was probably at around 200 Fahrenheit. He pointed towards the backseat. "We'll need that water." 

Steve went to get it. 

With his armor, it didn't take long to make sure the split in the hose was sealed up, and then it was just a matter of pouring about a gallon of water into the coolant tank. By then the dusk turned to true darkness, and the shadows of the trees around them were black shapes against the midnight blue that matched the dark shade of Steve's coat. Tony started the car and listened to the reassuring rumble of the working engine. His patch was holding up well.

"We're about an hour from the base," Tony pointed out, considering the empty road.

"You think we should bunk down around here?"

"Not a bad place to be." Tony peered into the dark and then drove a couple hundred feet before pulling off onto a poorly maintained off-shoot from the main road. They traveled another several minutes until all that was around in every direction was open fields and an occasional tree. He shut off the engine, and with it went the remaining light of the headlamps. The first smattering of rain hit the windshield and Tony rolled up the front windows, leaving the ones in the back rolled half-way down. That way they could have some air without being pelted in the face with the cold droplets of rain. 

"I'm too old for this," he sighed as he pushed his seat back into a reclining position as far as it would go.

"Yeah, you're real ancient," Steve said with an amused lilt to his voice. He was taking off his coat and stuffing it under his head, like a pillow. Tony followed suit. 

"You don't know my pain." Tony stretched out his back, shifting this way and that until nothing was poking him in the sides and he could rest more or less comfortably on the seat. Water sluiced down the windshield as he watched. He said thoughtfully, keeping his voice low, "With our luck, we'll get struck by lightning."

"I don't hear any thunder." Steve also peered out. For a while, they watched the rain together. It struck hard against the top of the car, and Tony wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep with the drumming noise. Eventually though, the April shower passed and left behind a sweet tang of fresh air and damp earth. The moon came out, nearly full. Neither of them was asleep, and Tony tried very hard not to let any of his inner confusion distort the comfort permeating the atmosphere. It almost felt like they were two friends, out camping. Not two Avengers on a desperate mission to rescue half the universe. Tony turned their improvised plan over and over in his head.

"If we steal the right IDs, we could be in and out. They won't have any real shielding on the Tesseract. At least nothing I can't deal with."

"I still think you should shave the beard off," Steve said, but he was clearly teasing.

"Not happening." Tony rolled his eyes, taking the bait. "We'll find what we need, and we'll be home by lunch. ...What?" He turned to see Steve laying on the side, watching him.

Steve's stare was affection bordering on wonder. "I always change, but _you_. You're always the same. Like a constant."

" _I'm_ the one who always changes," Tony protested, baffled. He lifted his head off his make-shift pillow. "For one, I became Iron Man. And—"

"You were always Iron Man," Steve said. "Before you built the suit, you were Iron Man here." He reached out and touched his fingertips lightly to Tony's breast, over the heart.

Tony stared at him. He had nothing to say to that. The excuses he had built up of it all being in friendship were thin on the ground.

And Steve wasn't done. He was still watching Tony with an indescribable look in his eyes, their blue turned a paler washed out gray in the moonlight. "Sometimes I feel like you're a universal fixed point. And— There's a force of gravity, pulling me to you, into your orbit." Steve looked down after, like hiding his eyes would take some of the punch from the words. It didn't.

Tony stared. "...What the hell do they have in the water that you are you saying stuff like this..."

Steve chuckled humorously. "Forget it." He twisted and tried to stretch, the space in the car clearly too cramped for his legs. With the car off and no artificial illumination, Tony could just pick him out from the little whispers of cloth against the seat and the faint outline of his chin, lit up only by the hazy moonlight. For a moment, the light vanished behind a passing cloud and Tony was irrationally afraid when it reappeared he'd find himself alone.

"Steve?"

Steve was still next to him, but he was silent, keeping himself to himself. They looked at each other, across the divide between their reclined seats. Steve's mouth opened to speak, but he bit back whatever words seemed ready to spring out. After a long silence, Tony huffed and shut his eyes, tilting his face into his jacket, serving as a pillow. _Fine_ , he thought with helpless frustration. Tony rubbed his bare arms. The nighttime brought with it a typical April chill and he was shivering.

"Here..." 

Tony's eyes flew open when he felt a jacket cover him. Steve had lent him his own. "You looked cold," he contended when Tony stared at him accusingly. His big hand stroked down the side of Tony's arm, once, twice. Whether it was the strident note in Steve's voice or the way those arms felt, for a moment Tony let him. _Shit._ It felt good.

All it was was a little touch, through the jacket, warming him up. At one point Steve straightened the collar, fingertips accidentally brushing Tony's neck. His touch was electrifying; Tony flinched back.

Steve looked startled and slightly confused. Hesitantly, he took his hand away. "You need to relax." He was whispering for no reason at all; there was nobody around for miles, only the sky and the stars to hear them.

Tony could not relax. His mind was on the barest of brushes against his neck, where the warmth of Steve's fingers still registered. One moment of skin contact and he felt as if his whole body woke up after a long slumber. The expression on Steve's face was soft concern, dashed perhaps with a touch of anxiety, but Tony's body lit up like Steve was offering to blow him. His out of proportions reaction reminded him how long it'd been since he'd gotten laid — he hadn't slept with anyone since Pepper, and that had been years ago. There'd been different women very clearly interested in dating him and, even once Morgan was no longer a baby, none of that had gone as far as coffee. Tony hadn't wanted to try, as if his body had shut down. He'd figured out it was his mind discarding sexual and romantic urges as unnecessary because they were unsafe. A stranger, in his house? The thought of bringing another human being home to meet Morgan made him cringe, the thought of trusting an outsider with his daughter was beyond him. 

Steve's touch was like a key turning in a lock. Tony knew suddenly that he could let Steve into his home, and trust that Morgan would still be safe. That if there was any danger, Steve would put himself bodily between it and Morgan without a moment's hesitation. He'd die for Tony's girl, the same way Tony would. And Steve wouldn't resent Tony the times he had to put Morgan first. 

Hadn't they tested that already? When Steve had first come to him at his house (with Natasha and Scott, yes, but Tony only had eyes for him), Tony had said no and Steve had respected that. Tony could read his face, how much the answer had crushed him, but Steve didn't push, when it would have been so easy. That meant something. Steve let Tony choose. And in the end, given the freedom to stay away from the time heist, from the team, from Steve, Tony _couldn't_. Could he keep himself to himself now?

Eyes glittering, Steve was studying his face and Tony hoped the dark was enough to cover his thoughts.

His mind did not have the familiar barrier to throw up against the sudden swooping urge to touch back. To run his fingers down Steve's broad back, all that glorious silky skin. His breath stuttered, fantasies springing up unbidden, how they could be with each other. Steve's hands sliding down his body, far less innocuous than a touch on an elbow or a shoulder. Tony sunk deeper into the reclined seat, body going boneless, as the voices in his head had suddenly hushed and stilled, subservient to the hunger he'd thought forgotten. Aching for the touch that was needed, that was welcome. Heat started to pool in his stomach and their eyes were still locked. Steve bit his own lower lip and Tony held back a noise. Steve was dangerous in a completely different way. He was dangerous to Tony. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, to chase the prodding thought away.

"Does your head still hurt?" Steve whispered, and with his eyes still closed, Tony felt him move closer, as if to check, as if the magnetism between them was literally pulling him towards Tony and any second he was going to wrap his arms around him, hold and kiss him.

Tony jerked back, eyes flying open. He was pressed back against the car door behind him, as if he could get out of Steve's reach. His thoughts were a chaotic mess. Did he want to get away? He'd wished Steve to reach out for him so badly just a little earlier, and now that it was happening, it felt worse than getting electrocuted. Tony was sure Steve could hear his shallow breaths in the awful silence that followed. He was panicking. Everything was made worse because Tony could see even in the faint light that Steve looked surprised to be so summarily rejected. While Tony curled in on himself, Steve shifted awkwardly in the seat. His eyes scrutinized Tony's face — did he look as shocked as he felt? — and Steve nodded to himself. 

"Okay," he said quietly, striving for normalcy. He tucked his hands under his armpits, trying to fit into a seat that was a bit too small for him. "We should get some rest."

Tony felt ridiculous. Then he felt angry. It was always easier than the other thing.

With a yank, Tony took the jacket off himself, pushing it back at Steve's chest. 

"Don't," Tony said. Just: _don't_. Hoping Steve would do ask he asked. _Stay back_ , he entreated with his thoughts.

Steve was silent.

Slowly, he shook the jacket out, and said, "Okay," pulling it on top of himself and shutting his eyes. "Good night, Tony." Just above a whisper.

The promise of something bright and beautiful faded out like the light. Tony's chest ached, but it was a familiar thing, this feeling; and this time he'd engineered it himself rather than having it sprung open like a yawning maw beneath his feet.

Tony stared out into the darkness outside the car. It took him a while to realize he never said good night back, and by then they both pretended Steve was asleep.


	2. The Heist

Tony's head was swimming by the time he finished hugging Howard, thanking him for wanting to try to be a good dad. Steve was watching him from behind one of the military trucks out in the yard, and he had signaled he already had the Pym particles in hand. Tony clenched the handle of the briefcase with the Tesseract and made himself step back from his dad. Jarvis was already opening the door of the car, and Tony wrenched himself away from him, too. The thought of what it would be like to abandon the plan and talk himself into Howard's good graces in order to get invited into his home to see Maria was like a persistent insect buzzing around Tony's head. He pulled away from them before he did something stupid. These people would go on to live their own lives, while Tony would always miss them. 

He started towards where Steve was idling, in his green military uniform and Aviator shades disguise, when a piercing loud sound of alarm cut through the base. Tony startled and winced, swirling to look about even as the yelling started. "Intruders on base!" and: "Stop right there." 

Except they weren't shouting to him. Some hapless private was pinned down to one of the walls not even a hundred feet away from them, with at least five guns pointed at his terrified face. They weren't shooting, but they'd clearly mistook him for Steve, even though the only thing the two men had in common was their height and powerful build. The man wasn't even blond.

Tony was distracted enough that Steve yanking him down behind the military truck took him by surprise and he yelped.

"Stay low," Steve said, crouching nearby. "They are looking for us."

"I gathered that." They were hidden from view, but that meant they couldn't see out into the courtyard either, which left Tony feeling like an ostrich. It wouldn't be long before the base was swept and they would be discovered. "The main gates will be shut. We'd have to fight our way out." And that would be the end of their resolve to cause no harm or casualties to innocent people.

Steve grunted, but didn't respond, yanking off his Aviator shades and peering out over the hood of the car. Tony joined him immediately. The private who'd been mistaken for one of them was being patted down by another soldier, but from the way the rest of the men were peering about, it was clear they didn't think they had the right guy. More troops were gathering in the courtyard to perform the sweep as the intruder alarm continued to blare. Steve yanked Tony down again, behind the protection of the vehicle and Tony went willingly.

"You have the vials?" He turned to Steve. 

Silently, Steve lifted four of them from his breast pocket to show him. Tony admired the foresight to grab more than they needed, for backup.

"Change of plan: we make the jump now." Tony reached for the GPS device, but Steve's hand on his wrist stopped him.

"My shield," Steve looked at him with a burning stare. They'd wrapped it up in a cloth and hidden it in a hole in the ground a few miles from the base, intending to pick it up on the way out. It felt wholly out of reach now. 

"Damnit," Tony muttered, hesitating. He didn't want to leave the shield behind either, but from the look in Steve's eyes, the thought hurt him.

Still, Steve's grip on his wrist slackened, he looked down and swallowed, visibly steeling himself. "Okay. It's fine. Let's do it. I—"

But Tony didn't get to hear what Steve would do, even though he had no doubt Steve would choose the mission over his own feelings. 

"Hey you!" He recognized Howard's voice, almost upon them and coming closer.

Tony and Steve exchanged wide-eyed looks, reading each other's apprehension. "We gotta move," Steve said, and pushed Tony in the direction of the next truck. Tony ran ahead, crouching behind the second, bigger vehicle. Steve was a moment behind him. Tony's attention was split between the threat of many people with loaded guns and looking for a way out that didn't need Iron Man. Their new hiding place was close to the heavy wood and metal fence, that could get them out of sight long enough for some sort of plan to fall together. Of course, Tony had no hope of climbing the fence without his armor. He looked back the way they came. The path through the front gate was cut off. Even if they made it to their stolen car, they'd never drive through the check-point in one piece. And even if they _fought_ their way through, other people would get caught up in their escape. The chance of casualties was too high. He had to put on the suit.

Tony's mind raced towards that decision even as beside him Steve said sharply. "I've got an idea."

Tony didn't even get a chance to open his mouth before Steve threw one of the vials at the truck behind them. Several things happened in rapid succession. A vial with Pym particles splattered over the roof of a truck. Multiple voices cried out as the truck expanded to the size of small building, throwing the soldiers around it back out of the way. While confusion reigned, Steve leaned down, grabbed Tony under his knees and back, and threw him over the wooden fence onto the other side, to safety. 

"What—!" Arms flailing, Tony yelled out in surprise and then he was landing in a rolling heap, avoiding injury only through fall-training that was still instinctive. His briefcase thudded to the ground by his side. The moment stretched as he looked up dazed, expecting Steve to follow. Instead of Steve vaulting over the fence after him, he heard gunfire.

As soon as the shots rang out, Tony knew on the level of instinct how Steve would react. He would move to avoid casualties and to protect their prize. Steve's preternatural reaction times were fast enough to fling himself out of the way of bullets. Tony himself was already in the process of letting his armor envelop his body. The time for secrecy was past, he had to get him and Steve out of here or risk casualties. The alarm sound grew distant as the armor slid seamlessly around his head, and he felt a sense of control returning. His elbows and knees smarted from the fall, but the exhilaration of being in the armor made the pinpricks of pain seem distant.

Moments later, Iron Man was swooping over the fence, one armored hand still holding the briefcase with the Tesseract. The courtyard was in complete disarray. Smoke rose from one of the crushed gas pumps, and numerous soldiers were sandbagging it; they were lucky it hadn't blown sky-high. Tony spotted Howard splayed out against one of the cars, apparently unharmed, and Jarvis rushing to his aid. Steve was in a crouch with his back to them, so hopefully still with his secret identity intact. 

A stray bullet hit Tony's faceplate and bounced off harmlessly.

Tony swooped down to grab Steve around the midriff. "Time to go, Cap," he said and took off into the sky with Steve, fast enough that he could hope they wouldn't be tracked in the confusion, The sun's blinding rays covered their ascend. Steve clutched on to his shoulders with a death grip as Iron Man sped out into the blue. 

He couldn't push the speed limit to the max with Steve in tow, as wind resistance threatened to rip Steve out of his arms, but he still pressed the edge of what he knew Steve could handle. It took a minute or two flying west to be certain they wouldn't be followed. Tony purposefully chose what seemed to be the less populated areas, where the chance of being spotted in the sky was lower. Steve hid his face from the wind by turning it into the juncture of the armor's neck.

Tony was about to crow over the ease of their successful escape when his sensors registered Steve's grip starting to slip from his armor. If Tony wasn't clasping him to himself, he would have fallen.

"Cap...?"

Steve didn't answer, but Tony was already slowing and descending into an empty hay field at the side of a road. Instead of a dramatic landing, he lowered the armor closer to the ground, expecting Steve to step off. When Tony unwrapped his arms from around Steve's torso, the other man swayed and nearly went down.

"Steve!"

Tony rushed back in to support him, catching him by the elbows. Steve just stared at him blearily, from a chalk white face. Rapidly looking him over, Tony could see the red stain of blood trailing down from his chest near the shoulder. "You got shot?!"

"I lost the vials," Steve gasped out instead of answering, not that Tony couldn't see the blood for himself. His mind failed to link up the dark splatters on Steve's military uniform with what he knew to be true. Steve was simply too good not to have anticipated the shots. But Steve was fading before his eyes, the blood loss was making him woozy and he sagged in Tony's arms.

"Let me see," Tony pressed out, teeth clenching as he ripped at Steve's shirt to try to get to the wound. It was bleeding in sluggish spurts. The front of Tony's armor was entirely coloured a dark slippery red. They had to stop the bleeding or Steve was a dead man. The shot had been straight through. "I got this, I got this. You'll be okay." Barely keeping his hands from shaking, he applied the sealant from the armor to the wound. It'd saved him before, he could only hope it would do the same for Steve. With the sealant in place, the blood stopped flowing, but Tony was still supporting Steve on his feet.

"I lost the vials," Steve repeated, the strain in his voice a tell-tale sign that he was at his limit. 

"Save your strength," Tony stressed, mind running through their options. A hospital? How would they explain it after the break in at a SHIELD facility? But if Steve needed it—

"I dropped them, Tony," Steve snagged his elbow. He was trying to catch Tony's eyes, but Tony could only look at the bruising all around the wound on Steve's shoulder, mind racing with potential complications. Blood clots, infections and nerve damage. "I've only got the one vial left." Steve tried to free one arm to go for the lone vial with Pym particles on his belt, but Tony hardly needed the suit to restrain him from moving too much. Steve struggled against him. "Tony! "

"What?" Tony finally looked up. "What does it matter—? Wait, you aren't saying—" He failed to find words for a second. 

Steve stared earnestly into his eyes. "You should have it."

"I should—? Blood loss is making you stupid!" 

"Tony..." Steve whispered in an entreating manner. "We don't know whether we'll be able to get more."

"And I should, what, abandon you here?!" Tony yelled into his face. "That's your plan?!"

"I'll be fine," Steve said, looking and sounding tired. "You have to get back. To your family. Morgan." The last was barely audible. He leaned more of his weight on Tony, seemingly unaware he was doing it even as he listed to the side.

"Fuck, I'm not arguing about this now." Tony made his decision. He wrapped an arm around Steve's torso again — now that he knew Steve was injured, he could feel that any movement jarred the wound and made Steve bite back groans of pain. Tony bent to put his other arm under Steve's knees, picking him up.

Steve made a brief sound of protest, but he evidently couldn't put up more than a token resistance. 

"You lost too much blood," Tony answered. "If you faint, I'm taking you to a hospital."

"No hospitals," Steve muttered, eyes shutting. 

"Then you know what you have to do," Tony threatened, swallowed thickly and tried to scan the horizon. He had to get Steve horizontal, so his major organs would be well supplied with the significantly reduced quantities of blood. Out here in the field they were too exposed, and Tony had a sudden urge to get out of the open. Steve's head landed on Tony's shoulder, which couldn't be that comfortable given the hardness of the armor, but there was little Tony could do about it at present. His armor allowed him to easily carry Steve's bulk, something he wouldn't have likely been able to do out of it. His voice softened. "Hold on. I'll find us a safer location."

Steve passed out on the way there. Tony very nearly panicked, but his suit sensors reported a steady heartbeat, and Steve's breathing was even when Tony hovered his bare cheek next to Steve's mouth to check. Tony had seen the serum perform enough miracles, he just hoped this time wasn't an exception.  


* * *

"Hey," Steve whispered.

Tony swallowed a lump in his throat. "Hey." 

He dropped what he was doing with the wrought iron door lock and came closer. Steve was lying on his back, on a makeshift bed of dry hay in a barn that Tony found out in the countryside. In his desperation, he'd kicked the door lock open before getting Steve settled, and was now in the process of patching it up, so that their presence wouldn't be discovered. The drafty, medium-sized barn stood on a dead-end turn in the back of a long row of oak trees, and the dust on the lock suggested infrequent use. Anyway, they wouldn't be staying long. 

The barrels of golden hay stored inside the one-storey barn had made an excellent bedding once Tony unrolled them on the ground. They had the color a few shades lighter than Steve's hair. 

Tony knelt down next to him, ignoring the protests of his scraped up knees. He propped himself up with one hand to lean over and peer at the sealed wound on Steve's shoulder. He'd done what he could while Steve had been unconscious, and thankfully it hadn't started bleeding again. 

Even Steve's slow blink up at him looked drained. "We okay?"

"You got shot in the chest. That sound okay to you?"

Weary amusement flickered over Steve's expression, like it was funny or something. 

"It's my shoulder," he murmured.

"Oh, well, okay, if it's only your shoulder!" 

Tony pushed down the flaring temper and tried to stay calm for Steve's sake. The other man was taking in the surroundings with the lethargic look of the convalescing. 

"I should send you back to the future," Tony muttered, feeling that last remaining vial burning a hole in his pocket. He'd thought of doing it earlier, while Steve was asleep-going-on-unconscious. Tony could simply wrap Steve's fingers around the handle of the briefcase with the Tesseract and send him on his way. But the trip through the quantum realm was a little rough, and waiting until Steve was more stable seemed wise.

Suddenly wide-eyed, Steve forced out: "No—"

"Bruce can help you better than I can."

"No." Steve snagged Tony's wrist, squeezing with his cool fingers and Tony's breath caught. "Don't do that. I'll be fine."

"So, it's okay for you to talk about sending me back on my own, huh? But you don't like it when it's your turn." Tony looked at him significantly. The warm relief at the way Steve had refused came swift. Even though he didn't want to admit it, the thought of Steve easily leaving him behind had been distressing for a number of reasons.

Steve gave a sigh and a unsteady smile, just a barely-there curl of lips. "Okay, fine. You win," he said softly, the grip of his fingers on Tony's wrist slackening. "We stay together."

"Damn, right." Tony said, returning that smile, before it vanished as he watched, terrified, Steve's eyelashes flutter closed again.

Suddenly, he didn't care how much time they had to stick it out in the past, as long as Steve was okay. They'd make it through somehow; they always did. No matter what, so long as Steve was alive and with him, Tony could handle anything this century threw at him. He covered Steve's cold and clammy hand with his other palm, and squeezed back. 

It was up to him to get them back home. Leaving Steve alone in the past wasn't an option, but Tony couldn't abandon Morgan either; she needed him. The thought of being torn away from her like this, through his own mistakes, was unbearable. He couldn't live out his life here, in this time, and never get to see her again. But the only way he could see to stealth back on that base was with a disguise, and Tony would need time to build that.

Already, it had occurred to Tony that he could fly back and take what they needed by force, before the order on the base was restored. Nothing in this decade could stand up to the power of his armor, not even close. He could crush any resistance, grab more of the vials and be out of there in twenty minutes, if necessary. But it would be hubris to expect zero casualties with a frontal attack. Besides, they would need more time for Steve to get better before they dared make the jump back.

Even now, Steve seemed to be hovering on the edge of wakefulness as the serum worked its magic. He appeared stable, breathing shallowly, but evenly as he rested. At least it looked that way; Tony was a mechanic, not a doctor. Faced with a wounded friend, he was left to wring his hands and picture the worst possible outcomes. 

"I mean it," Tony said. "You so much as _breathe_ wrong, and I won't hesitate to send you back."

"I know," Steve murmured, eyes still closed. "You don't hesitate. It's why I..."

Tony waited, but Steve's voice petered out. "Hey, hey," Tony moved close, speaking softly, hands hovering above Steve's shoulder, biceps, before making the decision to settle with a light touch to the tips of his hair, hoping not to startle but to wake. The weakness passed and Steve opened his eyes again, resuming his answer.

"—why I had to make the call." He sighed out the last part, sounding almost relieved to get the words out. "There was no time."

 _Bullshit!_ Tony thought, clenching his hands so hard the blunt fingernails dug into his skin. Even in the heat of action, Steve could have taken a moment to meet Tony's eyes, let him know what was about to happen. If Tony had been ready, maybe the whole thing would have gone differently. He didn't know how, exactly, but he did know that Steve didn't need to have gotten shot.

The spark of anger was enough to make him push up off the ground and start pacing. What was _wrong_ with Steve? Sure, he talked about doing this together, but push came to shove and he had acted like he was on his own. Tony paced the length of the barn along the edge of the hay, once, twice. He hated to sit here and stew. "I need to make a run for food, and check on the situation we left behind." He needed to be _useful_ , and there was nothing he could do here for Steve. 

"Mmm." Tony looked askance at the man, but Steve's eyes were still closed. His fingers moved vaguely, barely lifting off the ground. "Go. I'll be fine." Though quiet, the words were full of determination — a Captain taking charge of his own recovery. Tony watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, conflicted, then with a heart heavy from a maddening mixture of feelings, he went to do what had to be done. 

The military had scrambled jets to patrol the sky above Camp Leigh, flying in precise formations, so Tony didn't linger there. That wouldn't last long, but he had a feeling the additional checks he saw on the ground would be around for a while. His thoughts came back to a way they could sneak back inside, but even if they hid in some sort of a delivery truck to get on the base, eventually they'd have to make it downstairs and pass human oversight. The idea of an image inducer, something they could wear to alter their appearance reared up again. He turned it over in the back of his mind as he rushed from place to place, checking on the situation, a separate part of his mind constantly back with Steve, wondering how he was doing. Outside, the weather had turned blustery. The constant headache from his likely-concussion had graduated to an omni-present low-level ache, and nothing but time and rest would rid him of it at that point. He'd been catching only a few hours of sleep per night for several weeks in a row, and damn if he wasn't feeling it. His limbs were heavy and all his ideas frenetic with exhaustion seeping through. But he couldn't stop yet.

By the time Tony got back, carefully landing behind the trees and slipping inside the barn, Steve was sitting up, leaned against one of the pillars that held up the roof. Tony was both happy to see he'd had the strength to pull himself upright, and worried about the graying cast to his face. Steve's fingers stilled when Tony poked his head through the door; he had been turning the familiar steel compass over in one hand. Now he looked relieved, like Tony had been the one in any danger.

"Your uniform and shield." Tony shut the barn door and came closer, taking the shield out of the sheet that covered it and setting it next to Steve. Immediately, Steve ran his fingers across the Vibranium, as if checking the shield was real and whole.

Tony had a similar urge to run his hands over Steve's chest — lightly, just to check, just to make sure — but he forced his thoughts off that subject and on to the brown paper bag in his other hand. This one held a burger and a strawberry milkshake, the only fast food in the vicinity for which he'd been able to scrounge up the cash. He handed both to Steve.

"Eat," Tony said. "You need your strength." 

Steve took the burger and began to eat. After a minute of slow chewing, he looked up. "What are you having?"

Tony shifted in his spot where he'd zoned out for a moment, staring at nothing. "I'm fine," he blurted out. My, that water had been tasty. The smell of cooked beef made his stomach growl and the hunger pangs reminded him of other, worse times he didn't want to think about. "I'm not hungry," he said, to convince himself as much as Steve. He had to look away from Steve's probing gaze. "That's all of our money. Sadly, I neglected to wear more expensive jewelry I could pawn on our little trip. Unless you've got some?" 

It was meant to be a joke, but Steve's gaze fell to his lap, where in one fist he clenched his compass, with Peggy's picture in it. "Doubt you'd get much for this," he said. His thumb stroked the shiny metal cover and Tony watched the play of emotion on his face. Steve caught his curious look, his lips curving in a self-deprecating manner. He went to shrug and immediately gasped as the movement tore through his wound. Steve's face drained of all colour and he swayed, crinkling the sandwich wrapper in a clenched fist as he propped himself up with both hands to stay upright. His brow furrowed against the pain.

Tony rushed up to set both hands on Steve's shoulders, pushing him to lie down on his side, back onto the makeshift bed of hay. "Rest," he said, low and unexpectedly angry again, but trying to keep it to himself. The anger rolled in his stomach, tangled up with worry, even as he worked to soften his voice for Steve's sake. Tony wasn't someone typically accused of gentleness, but he wanted to be gentle with Steve now. "We're not pawning your trinket." He curled one hand around Steve's fingers, curving them tighter around the memento. 

Steve's eyes were welded to the spot where Tony's fingers wrapped around his. Tony squeezed once and hastily let go.

In the silence inside the barn, Steve's breath echoed, loud and harsh, scraping the edges of Tony's nerves. He felt helpless to do anything, so he simply sat next to Steve until the wave of pain crested and passed, and Steve's expression eased a little. His gaze had drifted up to where the wall met the thick beams that held up the roof, where the small openings let through some light.

Tony didn't know what to make of Steve's dreamy look; it scared him. He hoped Steve wasn't feverish. Tony wanted a hotel with a good shower, somewhere clean to check on Steve's wound. "Once you're a little more stable, I'll take us to the nearest city and talk to an ATM, see if I can convince it to spit out some money." This century was frustrating with its reliance on paper documentation and face-to-face interactions, all the things Tony couldn't hack. 

"Thanks," Steve whispered at a level of a breath. He lifted the compass to his face, opening it up to what Tony knew was inside, even with it turned away from him: Peggy's picture that Steve treasured enough to take with him everywhere. As if reading his thoughts, Steve said in a thready voice, sounding far-away and half-delirious. "I'd almost put it away." He frowned at the memory, still peering at the compass. "Then after—after I had to leave, back then," — Steve meant their fight and the break-up of the Avengers — "I had the compass with me so" — his voice nearly faded out — "I took it out more, to look at."

The thought of Steve clinging to a memory of the woman he had loved, years in the ground now, was excruciating. Tony was stuck with a knot in his throat, knowing anything he could tell Steve would be inadequate. What could he possibly say to make this okay? His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, but he just stood there, watching Steve's far away look with an ache in his heart. The future had failed Steve Rogers, failed to be enough for him to build a life there such that Peggy's memory would be soothed by the love and family he had around him. 

The moment passed in silence, Steve flipped the lid shut and put the compass away, sighing. He passed a tired hand over his eyes, but it wasn't to wipe away tears. Tony had never seen him cry, no matter what life threw at him.

Even with Steve's attempt to soldier on, Tony wanted to fix this. But nothing he ever tried or said had truly made a difference to Steve. If they saved everyone with their absolutely insane plan, maybe then Steve could try to let the past go. 

Tony casually studied the toes of his boots. "Do you think...once everyone's back, I mean, do you see yourself moving on?" He glanced up.

Steve's blink back at him was sleepy-slow. He looked like he was a breath away from shutting his eyes and drifting off, and as Tony watched he blinked again in the same heavy-lidded fashion as he tried to keep his eyes open. Perhaps he was tired from talking; Tony could pick up the slack on that front.

"Maybe lead the team again, with Nat?" Tony was mostly talking to himself at that point anyway. Steve was half asleep. "That made you happy, didn't it."

"Happy? I—" Steve sounded confused, and that just broke Tony's heart. It seemed that Steve struggled to parse the question or string together a reply. Tony found his slow, cat-like blinks unexpectedly dear. It figured, didn't it, that Steve couldn't even fall asleep without producing some emotion in Tony.

"Nevermind," he grumbled to himself, convinced this man was put on this Earth to stop him from getting a moment's peace. "Catch some Zs, we'll talk later." His eyes roamed the barn for any distraction, something to keep himself awake while he watched over Steve. If he stayed still for too long, he'd fall asleep standing up.

"No, I'm good." Steve shifted and tried to look more alert. "I just—" He yawned. "Sorry." Carefully, he rolled more to one side and nodded at Tony to continue. "What were you saying?" he entreated.

"Only that—" Tony waved a frustrated hand. Steve wasting himself away on a memory didn't sit well with Tony. He could do better than that. "Yeah, for sure, the rough winds lately have been very, very rough, but— Can't just curl up in a ball and cry, right?" 

He was a giant hypocrite, of course, because Tony certainly had had his share of jagged crying fits over the past five years. Above all stood out Morgan's second Christmas, when Pepper was on the other coast and Tony was stuck with a toddler that wouldn't go to sleep, and kept screaming no matter how he tried to soothe her. After Morgan was finally quiet in the early morning, he'd ended up in tears himself, wondering who was he kidding here. He had felt like the world's worst fake dad. How he'd wished he could have asked his mom what to do. She was thirty years gone, then, and in that moment, Tony had missed her so much he couldn't breathe. Even now, he had to clear his throat before he could continue, "Don't give up on the future yet."

Steve looked on, and his eyes were inscrutable. Tony waited, because he felt like Steve was picking over the argument and this was important. Tony wanted him to stop clinging to the past and try to be happy. He could practically see the wheels spinning behind those blue eyes as Steve considered his words. But when he spoke, Steve only said simply:

"So you're saying, I should keep trying?"

"I...Yeah?" Tony looked at him, confused. Wasn't that what he just said? "That feels like a trick question?"

Steve chuckled and then groaned lightly when it jarred his wound. "Okay," he breathed out carefully through the nose. "Maybe you're right."

"I'm always right," Tony put in with a tiny smile.

"Mmm," Steve nodded, looking somehow more focused than before. "Shouldn't you take a break? You've been on your feet all day." Steve shifted slightly, and patted the expanse of hay next to him, in invitation to lie down for a bit. 

_Oh, really?_ Tony thought with an inner eye-roll. They were going to play that game where Steve tried to shift the focus off himself and his problems, as if Tony was dumb as a plank.

"Don't change the subject," Tony said, but came over as if drawn. His feet truly were killing him, and roughing it in the car the night previous hadn't done his back any favours, either. He scrambled down to lay on the side, on the golden-hued hay next to Steve, facing him, and tucked a bent arm under his head. Then nearly groaned in pleasure, as every muscle in his tired body seemed to want to weep in gratitude for being at rest. His feet especially. The earthy smell of dry hay teased his nostrils. The makeshift bed was rough, blades of grass sticking out, but surprisingly comfortable. Across from him, Steve yawned contagiously, and Tony found himself covering a yawn, as well. He tried to recollect his slippery train of thought. "You gotta _live_ , buddy. You wouldn't be you if you just" — he couldn't contain another yawn —"gave up, is all I'm saying." 

"Shhh," next to him, Steve murmured, low. "Can you hear the wind picking up outside? Listen..."

Steve shut his eyes, tilting his ear to hear better. Tony followed suit, and yeah, outside the barn the whistling wind sent the field and the leafery of oak trees around them whispering in a soothing chant. There came a faint rustle of Steve shifting next to him, settling in.

"Yeah..." Tony sighed. "'s nice."

He found the moment inexplicably peaceful between one breath and the next, and then he was out cold.


	3. The Way Back

No use thinking of the night before, Tony told himself more than once, turning the image inducer prototype over in his hands. He sat at a desk in their new hotel on the outskirts of Philly. Steve was not in the room.

At first, Steve had lain on the bed, on his side of the room, hands on his stomach, fingers intertwined, and staring motionlessly at the ceiling for a good while. Not asleep, but seemingly lost in thought. Preoccupied. Tony, too, had been distracted from his observations of Steve by the tech he was working on. The inducer would let them get to places they had to go. 

There wasn't any good way to spin it — they had a big problem on their hands. The security at Camp Leigh was on the highest level, and on top of that SHIELD was looking for them all over the country. Tony could monitor communications with a carefully placed interceptor bug in the phone cable network, so avoiding them was possible, but the commotion he and Steve had caused by stealing the Tesseract left a big impact. 

From the communications on base, he learned that Hank Pym had miniaturize and moved all of his research to an undisclosed location, so there was no hope of lifting a few more vials even if they made it down to the lower levels of the military bunker undetected. A rendering of Tony's face was on WANTED posters that were beginning to circulate, which significantly hampered his ability to withdraw money from the sparse ATMs in the city. He had managed to hack into a Stark family account on a single occasion for a sum he hoped would go unnoticed, and they subsisted on those funds since, including new, unbloodied, clothes for Steve, some materials Tony required for his work, and paying down the new hotel room. It hadn't seemed wise to remain in a rural location, where they would eventually be spotted and easily identified. 

The image inducer would allow them to go almost wherever they pleased, but so far Tony only had a prototype that altered the colour of his eyes. In its final form it would cover the whole face, projecting a hologram of a different appearance, but even then though it conformed to muscle movements, it would not cover touch. They'd have to be careful.

Only sheer luck had limited Steve's portrait and description to that of a generic blond male. Luck also held as far as his injury was concerned; it was healing nicely. The serum truly was a miracle: good became great, months of recuperation became days. Steve was walking, as long as he took it slow and didn't contort his upper body too much. A night's rest had done wonders for him; it had been good for Tony as well.

He hadn't so much slept as fallen unconscious, the exhaustion from the past week or more finally catching up with him. In the morning he'd realized Steve intended that to happen, tricking him in his own quiet way. Tony couldn't even be mad at him; he'd slept better than he had in years.

There was also something to be said for waking up to Steve Rogers smiling shyly at you.

He was thinking of Steve again. 

Tony's eyes fell on the empty bed in the room, the one where the covers still vaguely recalled the press of Steve's body on them. After some time resting, the man had rolled his long legs off the bed, rising, and said he had to get out, had to clear his head. He'd been cooped up for days and was understandably ready to climb walls, so besides telling him to be safe, Tony didn't protest.

He looked at the hotel clock; that had been four hours ago. 

Stomach sinking with the sudden realization he might have traded Steve's sanity for his safety, Tony set his gadget aside, and went to look out the window. It had gotten dark; the parking lot outside of their second story room was barely lit up by street lamps, and every lurking shadow from the willowy trees lining the property seemed suddenly a threat. He'd been so engrossed in his engineering that he lost track of time. His heartbeat began to pick up even more. If something happened to Steve, it would be unforgivable. 

He didn't have a good view of the road, so Tony went out of their hotel room, directionless, only knowing he couldn't stand back and wait. He had no idea where he'd start looking for Steve. 

He was half-way down the stairs to the ground floor when he saw Steve, moving stiffly and more carefully than Tony normally saw him walk, leaning on the wall with a hand. He looked drunk. Tony registered the curious look from the woman at the counter, and filed that away for later, unable to focus on it now. He knew this wasn't alcohol affecting Steve. Tony hurried to him and pulled Steve's arm across his own shoulders taking some of the weight.

"Tony," Steve panted, as if he was the one who had the right to surprise. They walked slowly up the stairs to their second-floor room. "I thought I'd make it back before you finished your work."

Tony said nothing. He felt if he opened his mouth a torrent of words would pour out and there might be yelling. His eyes flicked to the small dark specs that soaked through Steve's clothing, above the wound, then he forced himself to focus on the way forward. He carefully led Steve inside the room, and locked the door shut behind them. "Let me see," he motioned to the injury with his chin, one arm around Steve's waist pushing him closer to the bed. 

Instead, Steve took out a rolled up wad of green bills and threw it on the covers. "I won some money at pool."

"You went hustling," Tony said, wooden. He imagined the bar-scene: Steve hitting all the corners because he was good with angles, the locals getting frustrated. It was a setup for a bad fight. His voice was flat: "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Steve turned to look at him, eye-brow lifted in question.

Control vanished in an instant, and Tony spat out, "Anything could have—You—! It's been _a day_ since you were bleeding from a hole in your chest!"

"Shoulder. And it's better now," Steve said, almost smugly. Tony's blood pressure climbed and his eyes must have communicated his feelings because Steve sobered. "It's nothing. I was fine 'till the walk back. Anyway, we needed the money; it wasn't fair. You can't have to look after everything."

Tony helped him sit down on the side of the bed, grunting. "I don't mind!" 

"I do," Steve answered harshly. His lips were pressed in a dissatisfied line, frustration with the way this conversation was going evident in the jerky movements of his hands as he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and pulled it aside to let Tony examine at the scar tissue there. "I wanted to help."

A small part of Tony wanted to strangle him, but mostly he was afraid that Steve might have pulled his wound open again. It was only by the grace of some very slap-dash medical technique that Tony had fixed up the gunshot before. He was definitely not ready to deal with any complications of aggravated gunshot wounds. Steve had been coasting on the miracle that was the serum — as long as it was supplied with plenty of energy it just kept going — but he was mortal, as yesterday amply demonstrated. He could have been recognized, attacked, taken by force, and Tony wouldn't have had a clue where to look. Now he peered at the injury, it didn't look too bad, but recent activity clearly disturbed the wound and the scar was cracked in places and seeping small droplets of blood. Calling up the armored gauntlet and applying the sealant again did the trick. He was gentle, Steve didn't even flinch. 

Tony talked while he worked, brow furrowed. "You still don't trust me."

"I do. I do!" Steve insisted, staring at him wide-eyed from where he sat.

"You say you do, but the moment there is a crisis—"

He caught Tony's wrist. "This wasn't about trust, I—"

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Tony glared, tugging his hand back. "All it would have taken is letting me in on your plan." He wasn't sure they were talking about hustling pool at that point, but it was all the same. Steve talked about doing things together, but push came to shove and this was his default.

"I thought I could handle it alone. And," Steve admitted quietly, "I didn't want you to worry."

Tony groaned, and drew Steve's shirt closed, careful of the injury. "Because thinking something happened to you was a walk in the park. You get that keeping things from each other has never made things better, right?"

The wind seemed to go out of Steve's sails. "I should have told you my plan," he said. "I'm just really," — he rubbed his face — " _really_ tired of not being able to help." He looked up at Tony with sadness shining in his blue eyes. "You always act like you don't need anyone."

"Yeah, well, we both know that's not true," Tony said quietly. 

The silence in the room was deafening.

"We can't keep having this circular talk again," Tony continued after a long moment, swirling his index finger in the air to indicate the vicious cycle they seemed to be locked in. "Either we trust each other, or we don't. That's what it comes down to in the end."

It was Steve's turn to frown. "Yeah? Have you thought about what's next after we get all the Stones?" His tone was combative, but Tony knew him very well by now, and could hear the real question.

"Well, I'll have to make a gauntlet for it." Tony watched Steve's shoulder. 

He'd thought about it back at the lake house, kissing Morgan's forehead as he set out for the Avengers compound. He'd thought about it a lot.

Steve's eyes bore into him, expectant. "And?"

"And what?" Tony turned his face away. "Someone has to wield it."

"Not you, though." Steve said balefully, and Tony could feel the focus of his stare. "You're baseline human. It would kill you."

But he had the armor, didn't he? With a bit of time, he'd find a way to build shielding. "Well—"

"There's gotta be another way." Steve insisted. "Rocket said Peter Quill had been able to hold the power stone because he had some sort of special powers, remember?" Yeah, Tony remembered the raccoon's story of how they all held hands and sang kumbaya. But Steve was talking about a super human wielding the gauntlet, and Tony had to nip that in the bud.

"So, what, let _you_ wield it? Sorry, buddy, not happening." The thought was abhorrent, even as Tony knew Steve would jump on that grenade with the slightest provocation. "Even if you weren't injured," he threw into the ring, still stung by the way that had happened on a routine get-away. They'd been so close to counting the mission as a win.

"I'm gonna be fine very soon."

That feeling — anger that's been banking in his heart the whole time since he'd carried Steve, bleeding, away from the military camp, flared up and outward from Tony's chest. Only it wasn't anger, he knew that with a suddenness that took his breath away. It was fear. Steve could have gotten killed because he was trying to keep Tony safe. Nobody else he— Nobody else was gonna die for him; Tony would make sure of it.

"We should focus on getting back home." He pointlessly straightened the collar of Steve's shirt, wishing he could do more. "You just leave the rest to me."

"And there we go again," Steve's voice rose. His hands clenched the covers until his knuckles were white. "Push comes to shove, _you_ make plans that don't involve me."

Tony sputtered. " _My_ plan wouldn't have gotten you shot!"

Steve winced. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"But it did!" Tony stressed. He still didn't understand. The memory of the realization Steve was shot chilled his insides. "You saw them pull out their guns and you just stood there?" 

"Your dad was behind me."

In the silence that followed, Tony couldn't find the words.

Steve had... He'd _let_ himself get shot to protect someone. 

All of Tony's anger — fear — vanished, as if swallowed up in the tidal wave of that realization. He stared at Steve for a long while. He'd known it, the moment he realized Steve was injured, that it didn't make sense. Now it played out in his head: how Steve would have had time to duck and chosen to plant himself like a tree and not move, so he could shield the man behind him. Absent his shield, he'd used his body.

And this was who Steve was.

"So you see, I didn't mean this to happen." Steve lowered his eyes, somewhat bashfully. Tony wanted to kiss his eyelids, and he was almost incapable of remembering why he shouldn't. Typically this feeling incited panic and the need to back away, but something changed, a switch had been flipped. All he wanted was to be closer to Steve. Steve who continued in a rush: "I know what it's like to watch something awful and be unable to stop it. I didn't want _this_. There just wasn't any other way."

"There is always another way," Tony said automatically, still frozen. 

"Cut the wire, huh?" Steve murmured, as if to himself. He looked up, piercing eyes focused on Tony, and for some reason more closed off than before. "I will, if you will."

Something about that made heat come to Tony's cheeks, and he had to turn away or risk Steve noticing his odd and out of place embarrassment. He went to where the pieces of his image inducer gadget were laying on the desk, then found himself pacing the length of the room. "In the meantime, while you were out visiting the local bar scene, I made good on our way back onto the base." It was almost finished, and Tony was down to programming likenesses into it.

"...Even if we get inside, Pym moved his stuff." Steve rallied around the change of subject like a champ. They'd hashed this out to death earlier that day. It would take time to figure out where Pym stashed his miniaturized equipment and even when they did, getting inside would prove difficult; Pym was a paranoid bastard.

"Yeah, I have some thoughts around that." Tony stopped in his tracks and swirled back dramatically. He had the stage; Steve was watching attentively where he sat. "For the past couple of days we've been focusing on getting a second vial."

"I sense a 'but'," Steve teased. 

"But, then I thought: why do we have to reinvent the wheel? Hank moved his stuff out of his own lab, but he didn't remove the rest of SHIELD equipment."

"Could you use it to make more particles?"

"Well, I _could_ figure that out, yeah," Tony shrugged. "I mean, it's not like I'd be inventing time travel. This one we know works. It might take me a few months. Weeks." He corrected himself, and glanced at Steve with an eyebrow raised. "But."

"Another but?" Steve's affectionate smile accompanying the words was like being basked in sun's rays. 

"We don't have to find those vials and we don't _have_ to understand the science. I hate to say that, but we don't have the time. Instead we can duplicate the one vial we already have. Synthesize a replica of it."

Steve looked doubtful. "We'd need equipment to do that."

"Well, I have an idea about that, too. You might not like it."

"I'm listening," Steve said, and the belief in his words, his belief in Tony, was as certain as a rock. Tony let it warm him and tried not to dwell on why it filled him with such a glowing sense of relief, and maybe something more. He needed Steve's sense of certainty for what he was about to propose.

"They've got Zola down there, working for them," Tony said, gingerly stepping around the issue that he was sure was playing on Steve's mind as much as it's been on Tony's. Zola was leading the Winter Soldier project. "You know he's spent a good part of his life trying to replicate Erskine's formula."

"But he failed." Steve's brow furrowed. His eyes darkened with the thought of everything they were choosing to ignore in this timeline. This time's Barnes would stay in captivity. Tony's parents here would meet their fate one day. 

"But we know he's got all the equipment we need to synthesize the particles, down in the SHIELD labs. My dad worked with him for a while, studying the serum. They were trying to replicate it from samples of your blood," — Steve's expression reflected his distaste —"but that's organic matter, DNA. The Pym particles is a pure chemical formula, they don't need to bind to human blood to work."

"You think you can figure it out if we get into Zola's lab?" It almost wasn't a question.

"I know I can," Tony assured him. 

"Okay," Steve nodded. "Then that's the plan."

"That's the plan."  


* * *

The plan, such as it was, worked to get them down to the lab levels of Camp Leigh bunker. New security and screening at the entrance to the base had no defense against the futuristic technology Tony had built to change their appearances. Even the shapes of their faces were different, Steve's nose was flatter and his chin more round, weaker. Looking nothing like himself, he sported mossy brown hair, and a dark mustache above the upper lip. His eyes were an unremarkable dull brown, and every time Tony looked into his face he startled, longing to see his regular features. 

Tony's own image projection was less of a change: he'd lost the beard, and his hair was darker and longer, curling at the nape, his eyes blue. Steve had teased him about the most high-tech way to avoid shaving, but whatever — it worked, and they got on the base as two SHIELD agents, both wearing sharp dark suits they bought with the money Steve had won at pool the night before.

This time they brought everything they needed to take with them into the future to the base, the Space stone extracted from the Tesseract and Steve's shield. That last one had bottlenecked them for a while, as they talked through the possible scenarios, such as a large case to sneak it on the base, but in the end it became a part of their cover story.

"Howard Stark's expedition ship recovered this in the Arctic," Tony had bullshitted to the face of a security officer at the inspection entrance gate when they opened the portfolio case with the gleaming Captain America shield in it. "We're bringing it down to the labs for study." Steve did his best impersonation of a stone-faced SHIELD agent next to him.

And they were in.

Down on the lower levels, it was more touch and go, since aside from Tony's brief visit, they didn't know the layout of the labs very well but didn't want to look like they had no idea where they were headed. He could easily get into any locked area, but identifying the needed subsection was key. Thankfully, Howard Stark was nowhere near New Jersey at the time, staying home with his very pregnant wife. Tony tried not to think too hard about _that_ , and luckily their current problems presented a convenient diversion for his thoughts. 

When they finally found the right lab at the end of the corridor, and Steve made use of his command voice to order the lone intern out of the room.

Being surrounded by Zola's private research was mind-bending. In these rooms lay the foundations of Project Insight. In here, Zola had began to conceive a container for his intellect that was a computer when his body started failing him. Perhaps it was in these very rooms that Howard had made the final progress with the super soldier serum that would eventually get him killed. In the corner of the lab stood the machine Tony wanted to use, a glass container with a space for a vial, and a computer terminal. He turned it on, and set to work.

"Look around, see where he stores synthetic compounds," he directed at Steve, mind already on the screen in front of him. 

He heard Steve lock and bar the door behind them with a desk. They had an agreement that if Zola did show up, Steve would only punch him a little, but overall they preferred not to be interrupted.

Although the convenience of punching the information out of Zola became more and more appealing the longer Tony studied the instruction set on the machine, scrolling through section by section. When he briefly glanced over the shoulder, he saw Steve had found a metal chair and was kicked back, leaning only on the chair's hind legs, his feet up on one of the wooden desks. He was between Tony and the door and seemed perfectly content to perform guard duty while he waited.

"Take your time," he said noticing Tony's glance.

Tony grit his teeth. "Just a moment." Who designed this? What kind of a convoluted way of thinking would lead someone to put those two sets of instructions together?

"Wow, you sound frazzled," Steve said.

Tony didn't look away from the screen. "You should see me when Morgan refuses to put on a warm jacket in the winter."

Steve gave a quick laugh, and the sound delighted Tony. His shoulders unwound, he squinted at the screen once more and, aha. There. He finally figured out the configuration of commands they needed, hands flying over the keyboard. The next while passed as he programmed the instructions into the terminal, while Steve added compounds to the loading slots of the machine as directed. Steve put the working vial of Pym particles into one of the open slot and they watched it get sucked into a sort of metal tube. Tony loaded up the program and stepped back.

"Press that red button there." He waved to the other side of the machine.

"The red button. Really?" Steve said dryly, walking over.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You are in a villain's lair: do as villains do. Press the button, Steve."

Steve complied.

They stood side-by-side and watched the machine work in silence.

"This isn't up for discussion, Tony: I'll use the duplicate particles and you use the original. _Because_ ," Steve stressed, when Tony turned to him, ready to speak, "I know you, and if you say it'll work, it'll work."

"And if it doesn't?" Tony asked quietly. He wasn't given to doubting himself, but this was Steve's life on the line.

"You'll still be back to Morgan, along with the Space stone." Steve's smile wasn't right.

Tony frowned. Yeah, he couldn't wait to see his kid again, and reunite with the other Avengers, but never like this. He wouldn't risk Steve.

"Anyway — _it'll work_." Steve turned to examine the machine. "So, hey, when do we pull the lever?"

 _Way to change the subject_ , Tony thought. While Steve wasn't looking, he would switch the vials, giving Steve the original and keeping the duplicate for himself. Yeah, sure, this _was_ going to work and Tony would prove as much when they both arrived into the future, safe and sound.

"...I think that light above needs to flash green."

They waited some more. Eventually, the green light announced the completion of synthesis, and Steve pushed the lever. The machine spit out the original vial, and a duplicate. Tony took both of them out of the dock and tried not to think about the ways things could go wrong, getting one of them stuck in the quantum realm forever.

"Are they ready?" Steve asked. He put out a hand for his duplicate vial. Even though his features were hidden by the image inducer, his hand was familiar, large, dry skin. Tony knew what it felt like in his own hand.

"I thought about switching these," Tony spoke suddenly. He looked over at Steve who had a careful expression on his face. "But no more lies between us." Tony looked back down at the duplicate of the original, then at Steve's outstretched hand. "It'll work." He handed him the vial that Steve asked for.

If anything, Steve looked pleased. "I believe you. I'm not worried." 

"Yeah, well, I'm worried enough for the both of us," Tony muttered to himself.

Standing among Zola's things, the research he would use to further Hydra's interests, Tony had a sudden wish to set fire to it all. But as they had seen with seemingly unconnected acts — Hulk taking the stairs in 2012 — the butterfly effect of everything that could result from their actions in this timeline was unpredictable. They had to stay focused.

"Tony?" Steve called, and his expression showed concern even through the unfamiliar features of the image inducer.

"Yeah," Tony answered, still lost in thought, eyes roaming over the large lab. "All this—You know." He paused, winced, started again. "The Apollo 13 launch is tomorrow. I keep thinking: one phone-call is all it would take. An anonymous tip about the oxygen tank." 

"We can't fix this world," Steve said, though he sounded like he badly wanted to try.

"I know," Tony said with simple certainty. "And I know there will always be more we could have prevented. Challenger. Others."

Steve pressed his lips together, then said in his quiet voice that meant he heard you and emphasized. "We have to go now. Something this high profile — Peggy must be in charge of the investigation. She'll be looking for us. We have to jump back."

"Right." And somewhere out there, Steve's friend was held captive, tortured and brainwashed for the eventual mission to kill Tony's mom and dad. They'd made this choice once already, not warning their younger selves in 2012 about what was coming for their world, but this felt even more personal. Tony looked at Steve. 

"You're the only one who truly understands how hard this is."

Steve looked at him, somber, through his mask. His eyes were all wrong, a different colour and shape, but something about them still rang true to Tony, a bit like understanding a word in an otherwise foreign language.

Suddenly he needed a touchstone. He needed to see Steve, to know that he was really with him. The desire to map out his face with his eyes again was a jittering, nervous itch under his skin.

"Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"We can turn off the image inducers," Tony said, clenching and releasing his fist on the side, to keep anxiety at bay. 

Steve watched him for a moment, then pressed his fingers behind his ear, turning off the image that covered his head. Instantly, familiar blue eyes were looking at Tony and relief crashed over him. Tony turned off his own disguise. Steve smiled back.

"There you are," Tony murmured, staring into his eyes.

Steve cleared his throat to say: "Suit up." 

And then they went back home.


	4. The End?

Tony mourned Natasha, but she'd been like a sister to Steve and Steve was _devastated_.

Clint, Hulk, Thor had all shown their pain and despair in a different way, yelling and arguing. Tony didn't know which one of them he was worried for the most. For himself, it was as if it wasn't true. Tony was numb, disbelieving of the idea that she could be gone, just like that, never to return. Angry arguments swirled; Hulk threw a deck bench into the lake.

Steve cried. Silent tears rolled down his face and the numbness around Tony's heart cracked at the sight.

There was nothing he could do to make it better. He didn't believe there was a 'better' for people like them, watching the endless parade of ghosts of their lovers, friends, family. Gone now. No platitude about her living on in their memories, no assurance that time would heal all wounds would make a difference to Steve, but Tony had to at least try be there for him. So he remained close by.

After Hulk had stalked off to roar his grief in the nearby forest, and Thor with Clint went back inside the compound, Steve still sat quiet and unmoving by the dock. Tony still stayed with him, next to him, staring out at the lake, lost in his own thoughts. The water shimmered in the sun, but the day felt gray, duller than when they'd left on their mission a little while ago. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, his hands were cold.

Steve's voice came soft from his side. "Remember what you said, about how we should have gone to Vormir?"

"Yeah." Tony bitterly regretted letting Natasha go there. She was _dead_. He just had to keep repeating it to himself, until the words sunk in. He looked over at the other man, only to watch Steve wipe his cheeks with his palms.

Even clear of the tears, Steve's face was drawn. "I know what would have happened if we _had_ gone."

Tony's eyes widened. Him and Steve. _No._

He crouched in front of Steve, grabbing his shoulders, looking into his face. The image of Steve bleeding out, dying, rose before his eyes and Tony's heart gave a violent lurch. "I would have never let you jump." The words blurted out of his mouth before he knew he was saying them. 

"I know!" Steve said, with fresh tears springing up in his eyes, leaving Tony gaping at him. "I _know_ you wouldn't have. You have the suit. You're faster and—" He swallowed roughly. "That's what scares me. If ever there's a choice and I—I won't be good enough to save you—"

"Steve..."

" _What?_ Nat is gone! How am I supposed to keep— keep..." He didn't go on for a moment, too choked up to speak. Instead, Steve covered his face with his hands. His voice came muffled. "Moving." He rubbed his face once, getting rid of the remaining tears and looked up meeting Tony's eyes. Steve's eyes looked tired, like everything was getting to be too much for him, this life, these years of living in the world that had been broken, and having only a few people to anchor him. Tony didn't have the answers for him. He didn't know how they'd go on without Nat, but he knew they still had work to do. He needed Steve to hold it together.

"We've still got...we've got each other," he tried. "That doesn't change."

Tony put his hands on both sides of Steve's face, looking at him as if he could peer inside. Steve stared back with his blue blue eyes, and Tony lost every trail of thought, his mind becoming quiet and still. For a moment, all he wanted was to press his mouth to Steve's, to kiss him and whisper promises against his lips. Steve's eyes roamed over Tony's face, and his mouth fell open just slightly, so invitingly, seemingly poised on the verge of saying something, perhaps telling Tony to go ahead.

Tony found himself moving forward, heartbeat loud in his ears, and then he was pressing his forehead to Steve's. His eyes slid shut. This was a terrible idea. The urge to kiss Steve was still there. He'd known from the start that being close to Steve all the time wasn't going to be consequences free, and now, tearing himself away seemed an impossible feat of strength far beyond him. For a moment, they stayed like that, silent breaths mixing.

Then Steve said, painfully, "I can't live on scraps, Tony."

Tony moved back a few inches so their eyes could meet again. 

Steve put one of his palms to cover Tony's, on the side of Steve's face, and pressed that palm into his cheek, against the start of a rough stubble there. His chest rose and fell like he'd just run a marathon, and Tony found his own breath speeding up. "I tried so hard to give you space. Whatever you want, I've given it to you. But this, you being like _this_ with me—." Steve's voice broke, he breathed in shakily. His hand clutched Tony's fingers. "I'm not a saint."

"Never said you were," Tony mumbled, drawing back physically, uncertain of his footing now. He thought he was comforting Steve, but looking into his eyes it felt like Tony was only causing him pain.

"Then have mercy," Steve said with a curious mix of anger and hurt in his drawn voice. On anyone else, Tony would have called it pleading, but Steve didn't beg, even when he said 'please'. "Don't offer this only to pull away. You know how I feel about you, so don't do this to me."

"...How you feel?" Tony repeated, brain seeming about as useful as a bricked hard-drive.

Steve looked stricken. "Tony. You must know. Don't you?"

Tony inhaled, sharp.

They looked at each other. Steve's expression slid from dumbfounded to fierce. "I want to be with you."

Amid the pounding of his heart, Tony told himself all the reasonable, logical things. The last couple of days, months, years have been hell on everyone. Steve was coming off losing another friend, and clinging to what remained. He was upset. He'd feel differently later. Tony should thread cautiously now, and not believe spur of the moment confessions. Good reasons, all.

Tony's heart rejected them all, clinging to the sound of Steve's voice, harsh and unrelenting as he said his piece. Like a foolish, fallible organ that it was, his heart clung to the way Steve's eyes tracked his, as if hungry for any glimpse of reciprocal feelings. 

And then, like he didn't know when to hold back a finishing blow, Steve said: "I should have told you before, how much I admire and cherish you."

There was a dull roar in Tony's ears. He waited a beat, somehow convinced that Steve was going to laugh and add: as a teammate. A friend. But all Steve did was lift a hand and stroke his cheek once with a thumb, so tenderly. "I do. Very much." His face was open, his touches were promises. Steve gave a thick swallow and Tony saw how hard he was trying to keep himself still and open, for Tony to take what he wanted. It was shaking through his frame, or maybe it was all the feelings pouring out of his eyes that kept holding Tony's gaze, and holding, holding.

"Yeah?" Tony croaked. He felt like all the strength had gone out of his body, and all he could do was remain upright where he crouched with one knee on the ground. And if he collapsed, he thought it would be fitting if he collapsed at Steve's feet.

Steve nodded. "Yeah." He trembled. "I lo—" 

But Tony pressed his fingers to Steve's lips, shushing him. "Don't," he whispered, repeating his refrain from before. He couldn't hear those words fall from Steve's mouth now. It would utterly undo him.

Steve's lips moved silently against his hand shaping the words. His eyes bristled with hurt.

"Not now," Tony rushed to say, staving off this talk until it didn't make him lose his mind. He was barely keeping it together as it was. "Not here. Tell me— Tell me when we get through this." He was asking for a lot, but that was what he needed.

Slowly, Steve took Tony's fingers away with his own hand, lowering them to his lap. "Tony..." he started.

"If you still want to, then tell me when we finish this," Tony entreated forcefully. "And I'll believe you." That much at least was true.

Steve took a shaky breath. "Okay. There's a lot left to do, we should focus on that, you don't need this right now." Steve offered him that escape, but his eyes were searching Tony's face, as if asking to be proven wrong, to be heard and understood and _loved_. And come hell or high-water, Tony did love him. He wanted to say he would _always_ need this, and always need Steve, but now wasn't the time or place for those feelings. He couldn't promise...anything, really. They didn't let the thing between them take root back in the seventies, not with the unknown future looming ahead, and their mission still wasn't done. There was nothing they _could_ promise each other, except to fight on until their dying breath for the half of the universe that needed saving. 

"Nat would want us to keep going," Tony said, squeezing Steve's hand. "C'mon." Tony caught Steve's elbow, helping him to his feet. "I've got FRIDAY modeling a glove that should fit all the Infinity Stones. Natasha lay down her life to give us this chance. We can't waste it," Tony said. "But I promise you. We get this done. We get the Snap reversed and everyone's okay? We can talk about it then."

"Okay." Steve nodded. He shuddered, then straightened his spine, visibly steeling himself. "We'll talk then. I can wait."  


* * *

And then, and then, and then— Strange lifted a single finger, and Tony knew what he had to do.

He flew on ahead, towards the Mad Titan. Things were happening faster than he could process now. With a part of his brain, he was still thinking about Morgan, about being a dad and about putting her to bed every night, and what kind of a world he would leave her. He was thinking about how unfair it was he'd never see her smile again. He was happy, dammit, he had a life, a family, a future. He could have Steve.

Tony thought of all the promises they had made each other that he was about to break.

He got his hands on Thanos's glove and let the stones meld with his armor. Then he was thrown back with a punch to his solar plexus that knocked him to the ground.

"I am inevitable," Thanos growled.

Tony stood on his knees and breathed, as the battle raged on around them. A second's hesitation meant another Avenger might fall under the onslaught of the alien army, and Tony would never have someone else die for him again. Yinsen had given his life to get him here and Tony hoped he would have been proud. 

He knew what he had to do. 

There was no time.

 _Bullshit!_ The thought crystallized in his head, and somehow it was Steve's voice that might have said it at one point or another, when Tony had made another call that risked certain death. Or maybe it was Steve making the call that put himself in harm's way and how Tony felt thinking he was dying. In a frozen moment, his eyes sought out Steve on the other end of the clearing, throwing off an alien and turning, suddenly. Steve saw him. Steve's eyes burrowed into his, bright pinpricks. In another instant, darkness would swallow even his brilliant spark. All of it existed still and immutable as if frozen in time. And Tony was going to save them, but he needed some help.

That thought became another, became more. Became a command. 

He was the master of time and space, and all the universe, with the energy of those Infinity Stones crackling around the gauntlet. It hurt, but the pain was distant. Tony was made of light.

Steve's large hands closed around the glowing gauntlet on Tony's hand, collapsing to his knees right there before him as if called. Tony met his burning blue eyes. In the space of another second, an eternity existed between them. Steve's eyes were wet — that was all Tony was going to remember about that moment: not the terrifying power, not the firestorm he held in his hand. Just Steve and his beautiful eyes, looking right at Tony, as if they were talking. What were the things they were saying? Tony wanted to hear him say the words, just once. And he wanted to cry, to tell him _don't_ , but a small part of Tony's mind was at peace. It wasn't fair that he was putting Steve through this kind of pain, but... Steve wasn't letting go. Steve wasn't giving up.

They would do this together, too.

Another's hand landed on Steve's shoulder, gripping tight. Sam.

The roar in Tony's head lessened by a fraction, a space opening up to feel another's hand that had been present on his own shoulder. Rhodey. Peter was there too, crashing into them from a wild swing, and lending them his strength. And more, more. Pepper. Thor. The raccoon that Tony remembered explaining, very sarcastically, how he had helped Quill contain the Power stone once, and now was doing it again, for the sake of his adopted world. Barnes made it to Steve's side, holding on tight to his other shoulder. Then it became a human chain, every Avenger, all the people Strange had brought to this battlefield to assemble on Steve's command, they were all connected. Every connection opened up space for Tony to keep on breathing.

The power of the Gauntlet coursed through them all. Dozens of people, hundreds.

One focal point. And then the wish was granted and as Tony looked on, the enemies that threatened their world crumbled to dust. 

_His_ world was pain.

"Tony!"

_I am..._

"Tony. Tony!"

When the white receded from his vision, Steve was still on his knees next to him. He was alright, as far as Tony could tell. He yanked the Gauntlet off Tony's hand and after a horrified glance at Tony's right arm, his fingers were on the sides of Tony's face, peering into his eyes. Tony thought Carol held on to the gauntlet for them, and that was okay. Steve's hands on his face were rough, but Tony felt the warmth of them through Steve's fingerless gloves.

"Oh, thank God," Pepper's voice cried out, somewhere nearby.

"Tones," Rhodey's voice called at his back. And then a command, "Give them some space!" There was a little circle around him and Steve, both still kneeling in the dirt. Steve's face was wet.

"I'm okay," Tony croaked. He wasn't completely sure at the moment, but, yeah, maybe. Someone called for a doctor. FRIDAY had administered some sort of a painkiller, unprompted, responding to the readings she was receiving from the suit, but he didn't feel like he was about to keel over right there and then.

With a jerk of a hand, Steve yanked his own helmet off, throwing it to the side, and yep. Those were definite tears.

"Tony," Steve choked out.

Tony caught a breath. "Got something to say to me?"

Was he smiling? Tony couldn't feel his own face, but he thought he had to be smiling.

Steve moved forward and clutched Tony to his chest, careful of his injured arm. It was nice. Tony let the armor melt away where Steve touched him, sinking into the warm embrace. He'd been hoping for more kissing, but—

"I love you," Steve whispered into his ear.

The words were like pinpricks of sunlight piercing the cloud, colouring everything in a different light. Tony knew, of course. "I love you," Steve repeated again, fiercely.

Then his mouth joined with Tony's mouth, right then and there on the battlefield, as Steve kissed him. Tony smiled against his lips and kissed back with everything he had, hungry for it. He had said he was going to believe him, later, when the war was over, but the truth was, deep in his heart, he believed that Steve loved him for a while. It was just that now they had a chance to do something about it. Tony had so many ideas for the future.

"Whoa," came a distant reaction from their friends. "Guys?"

"So is this a recent development?" Sam, maybe.

Tony didn't care. He curled his okay arm around Steve's neck and hung on. The other Avengers were talking, saying something, but that instant Tony existed only with Steve, only for him. The kiss went on, open mouthed, their tongues meeting and sliding against each other as lazy, pleasant haze of sensation enveloped what felt like Tony's entire body, pushing aside all else. It was everything Tony had dreamed about, falling asleep next to Steve in the car under the stars, and later, every night they spent together but not _together_. Steve kissed like he didn't need air. Would he always kiss like that, Tony wondered joyfully.

But eventually, their kiss, too, had to end.

For a moment, when Tony opened his eyes, his eyes met Steve's and they were just the two of them. Two people transposed into another separate world together, one that was only theirs.

Then Steve was turning to look down at his injured right arm, his expression somber and full of concern. His fingers were gentle, turning it palm up to see better. And yeah, those burns did not look good. Tony turned his eyes away. He'd rather watch Steve.

Steve was frowning. "A doctor needs to look at your hand."

Tony lifted the fingers of his other, healthy hand to brush at the tear tracks on Steve's grimy face with his thumb. "Hey, you."

Steve glanced over at him, then smiled. It transformed his entire face. "Hey," he said back in a voice that Tony was quickly beginning to identify as _adoring_. Tony basked, knowing it was all for him. "I've got you. Come on." Steve slid an arm around Tony's midriff, helping him rise. They stumbled to their feet.

"Did you see that?" Tony said, maybe a little choked up, looking about at their safe, bright world. He still couldn't quite believe it. Around them, so many people were in various stages of post-battle celebration. They were chattering, laughing, maybe even laughing at the two old men, walking away from the battlefield, together. 

He leaned hard on Steve, one arm wrapped around Steve's broad shoulders, knowing the other man wouldn't mind. Steve was a little shaky on his feet himself, so they held each other up. Tony wasn't gonna be the one to say it, but pain killers were wearing off already, and his right arm hurt like it would fall off. And everything they'd lost, the struggles that came along the way, those were all still there, pressing on his heart. But that weight was bearable, because they had each other. They'd done it. They'd actually kept what they found, and didn't die trying. Nobody was more amazed than Tony, who'd from the first felt that Thanos was a curse hanging over him that would maybe take him down. But: Steve. Steve had shared the burden of the power of the Stones, and was pressed up against Tony's side now, holding him close. Tony let more of his armor melt away, just so he could feel him be closer. Steve was so warm.

"We won."

Steve's blue eyes smiled at him, and then Steve ducked down and pressed a little kiss to Tony's mouth again. Tony grinned against his lips. All those PDAs. Steve was going to be unbearable with them, Tony just knew. He'd come on all rules and regulations, but he was going to be the one to break them all. 

And, yeah, he was calling it now. They were going to be _amazing_. 

Their future was a bright one and Tony was so there for all of it.  


* * *

**Epilogue: The Beginning**

"Look, Daddy! Daddy, look!" Morgan's hand shook his shoulder. "Daddy!"

Tony cracked one eye open to peer out from where he'd been _resting his eyes_ on the living room couch. She thrust a paper doll cut-out in his face, careful to avoid jostling his bad arm.

"And what's that you've got?"

She giggled, pigtails swinging. "You're supposed to say!"

"A tree?" Tony asked.

"No!" More giggling. " _Daddy_."

Tony opened his second eye and studied the cut-out doll very, very seriously. "A mouse?"

Peals of laughter. "No, Daddy! It's _you_!"

"Oh, it's me!" He didn't have to pretend to be delighted. "You made a doll of me?"

"Cap showed me how," she said, matter-of-fact. Tony was going to have to stop using 'Cap' as an endearment, if his daughter was picking it up as Steve's actual name. "He was sad, but not ouch sad, but in here sad," she pointed to her heart, "and I asked him what made him happy, and he said you did, so I drawed him a picture, and he showed me how to make new clothes!" She pursed her lip and diligently showed Tony how the doll got its shirt clipped on, with little paper cut-outs wrapping around the borders of the doll.

Tony blinked at that onslaught of information to unpack. He took Morgan's hand, rising. "Let's go see Steve, then, and thank him." She skipped along at his side, as if they were dancing. "And what's that in my hand."

" _Coffee_ ," she said with the air of someone who was tired of explaining obvious things to adults. "Because it makes _you_ happy."

Tony was still giggling when they walked out to the open veranda of the lake house.

"I have two artists under this roof," he announced when Steve half-turned from where he'd been leaning with his arms on the wood railing, studying the world outside as if it held answers. He was wearing a sky blue shirt that set off his eyes. Steve smiled at seeing him and Tony's heart flipped in his chest, and his body thought Steve looked very fine indeed. He kept talking to cover up the shift in the mood while coming closer to the man. "Help, I'm being assimilated. I feel the urge to lock myself in my garage and go on an engineering spree."

"You can't, Daddy." Morgan shook her head seriously. "You swore."

But her eyes were turned towards her doll, having temporarily lost interest in the adults.

Tony leaned on the railing next to Steve. "You're pretty quiet," he said softly. "You okay?"

He'd asked that question before, but never with less need for any artifice over wanting to know the answer. 

"Better with you here," Steve said, turning fully, so his back was against the railing, and his arms were open.

Tony rolled his eyes, but leaned into him. "Stop with that," he muttered, hiding his face in Steve's shoulder.

"Never," Steve whispered fiercely, wrapping his arms around Tony's midriff. Steve's lips moved next to his ear, stirring. "Not as long as you'll have me."

Tony let out a shuddering sigh. "Promise?"

"I promise."

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post here](https://sheronwrites.tumblr.com/post/186910942499/bright-things-and-fair-fandom-mcu-word-count). Feedback is loved!


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